


twined

by inberin



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 00:20:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6098686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inberin/pseuds/inberin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>the life and times of a simple half-dryad botanist/cafe-owner and his wayward best friend, accentuated with jasmine extract and a hint of mint</p>
            </blockquote>





	twined

**Author's Note:**

> written for the [haikyuu valentine's exchange](http://haikyuuvalentineexchange.tumblr.com) for recipient #9, you can check out their other works here! i finished this fic like, ten days after valentine's because it got so out of hand hhhhh
> 
> THANK U TO MANDZ AND KK for stickin arnd and BETAREADING and Bein There in general. yall the boos  
> more (very belated) thanks to the ppl who actually read this thing while it was still in progress—chria, jia, xing, chibg, and ybby. i love every single one of u
> 
> anyway pls enjoy o/

“Tooru! Tooru, dear,” the old lady calls from the front of the shop. Her voice, already soft with age, is dampened somewhat by all the blooms and vines about the place, and Tooru only really notices the sound when a single baby peony in the back room twitches one of its leaves _just_ so. “Where are you? Oh dear, oh dear.”

“I’m in the back, Hyakuzawa-san! I’ll be out in just a sec, so just hold on, alright?” He makes one more round around the back room wall, spritzing the last of his water onto all the plants, then gives the leaf a thankful little pat. A stray root almost sends him sprawling as he turns to put the spray bottle down, but he manages to unhook his foot from it just in time, and the root’s gone by the time his sports shoe reaches the tiled floor safely, without crushing any of his prized tenants. “I’m coming,” he calls again, stepping into the main room.

“About time, Oikawa.”

 _Ah._ Tooru lets his pace slow and his shoulders relax, and drops his hands to rest on his hips. Iwaizumi’s not even out of his jacket yet, and he’s already putting the hot water on for tea. Really. There’s a wilted orchid sitting on the tiny coffee table, while the little old lady sits on one of the shop’s old armchairs, charmed smile on her face. (“Old people magic,” Tooru had joked once, back when they were teenagers. Iwaizumi had scoffed, but the hands meticulously peeling his grandmother’s oranges hadn’t stilled in the slightest.) “Hyakuzawa-san is my customer, not yours, Iwa-chan.”

“Then treat your customers better, dumbass.” Iwaizumi finally takes his jacket off while the water boils, turning to place it onto its usual hook on the coat stand. Tooru takes over, measuring out tightly curled leaves with a practised hand into the pot before checking on the water. There are soft voices behind him, presumably from where Iwaizumi’s still distracting old Hyakuzawa. The first pot is always a rinse—Tooru empties it out into the matching cups to clean them, then into a bowl for watering the plants later. He fills the tiny ceramic pot with hot water again, then picks out three out of the five tiny cups, and carries it all out on a tray.

Iwaizumi doesn’t even look up as he approaches. Tooru fights down the urge to turn up his nose. “Oolong,” Tooru says in response to the questioning glance Mrs Hyakuzawa sends him. “We’re out of jasmine. I hope it’s alright.”

“Oolong makes it harder for elderly people to sleep at night,” Iwaizumi says in his usual snappy little way that Tooru hasn’t heard in months.

“Oh, but it’s still just morning, Hajime dear,” Mrs Hyakuzawa says with a mollifying wave of her hand. “I’ll be quite alright. Thank you, Tooru, you didn’t have to.”

 _Yeah, well, Iwaizumi already put the water on, so like, whatever_. “I enjoy the process,” Tooru says instead, pouring out the tea, then gesturing with a smile for the cups to be taken. Mrs Hyakuzawa sips at the tea daintily, and Tooru can tell she’s savouring the taste. Iwaizumi dutifully sniffs at the tea at first, then glances at Tooru and downs it all in one go. Tooru makes a face at him. Heathen.

He does really enjoy the process of Chinese tea-making, though. Just usually in the presence of like-minded people like Mrs Hyakuzawa, because if he stares at Iwaizumi for too long he wants to punch him for not sipping the tea three times, at least. “How can I help you this sunny morning, Hyakuzawa-san?”

Mrs Hyakuzawa puts her cup down onto the tray with a barely audible clink, and sighs. “It’s my orchid. It hasn’t been growing very well. I normally have no problem with orchids.” She lowers her voice conspiratorially. “I think it’s sick, if you know what I mean.”

Tooru laughs, because he does. “I’ll take a look at it.”

The flower is already a lot less yellow than it had seemed when he first saw it. “I think it’ll be fine. The cold’s just gotten to it, just a little,” Tooru says, sticking his fingers into the soil and humming a short tune. The little white orchid shivers imperceptibly, then stands a little straighter. He considers pouring his share of tea into the pot for good measure, but then remembers that it’s still not fully cooled yet. It’s a lot warmer in the little store than it is outside. “Just keep doing what you’re doing, Mrs Hyakuzawa. It probably likes it.”

“Oh, dear, is it going to be a little weak? I’m giving it to my grandson, and he doesn’t have much experience with orchids, though he’s good with the rest.” Old lady Hyakuzawa beams at the thought of her grandson. “He’s the tall one, if you remember. Very useful for rearranging the pots on the high shelves.”

“I’d suggest a different species for someone new to gardening, but if he’s had experience, then it’ll be fine as long as you’re there to guide him along,” Tooru says. “You’re one of two people I’d trust any orchid with.”

“You’re too kind, Tooru,” Mrs Hyakuzawa says, but she’s still smiling. “Thank you for the tea.”

Tooru takes it upon himself to retrieve the old lady’s thick woolly coat from the stand and helps her into it. He runs his fingers along the stem of the orchid again, to protect against the cold of the journey and for good luck, and then Mrs Hyakuzawa leaves with a draft of a cold air.

The temperature of the little shop rises back into a comfortable, toasty level. There’s never been a need to turn on the heater in Tooru’s shop, since the sun shining through the glass had always been more than plenty. And there were always other factors, namely an “oh, SHIT,” followed immediately by the muffled crash of something Tooru’s definitely gonna make them clean up later—marking the arrival of #1 Trusted Orchid-Grower and his trusty sidekick Space Heater.

Iwaizumi sighs. “I’ll go check on them.”

Tooru’s about to tell him that he doesn’t have to, then decides that if Iwaizumi is going to hang around the store for his own mysterious reasons, then Tooru could use the extra pair of hands. “Go kick their butts for me,” he tosses over his shoulder as he carries the tray into the kitchen.

Iwaizumi pushes up the sleeves of his turtleneck with a menacing grin, just as Hanamaki stumbles into the main room with his usual tacky backpack and Matsukawa in tow. They look visibly torn between welcoming Iwaizumi with open arms and recoiling at the look on his face.

"Haha, hey," Matsukawa says, pulling nervously at his beanie so his horns poke further out of the two holes cut in it. "Didn't expect to see you here today, Hajime."

Hanamaki settles on a pout and pulls off his earmuffs, since his own curled horns are too big for hats. "You should've called! Then I could've gotten you something!"

"Nobody wants anything from that ugly bag of yours," Matsukawa says.

"Yeah, that's right," Hanamaki jeers, "and I obviously wasn't the one who polished off the two bags of chips I had saved in there, so you can just keep living in denial and no snacks."

"God, not the snacks! Take away anything but the snacks!"

Iwaizumi snorts, but his smile is entirely genuine now. "Shut up, you two," he grunts, then pulls them both into a hug. Matsukawa looks unbelievably pleased for someone who was completely unsure of himself a minute ago, and Hanamaki's squeezing back and making a soft, high-pitched squealing noise even as his face remains completely unchanged.

"I hate to break up this touching reunion," begins Tooru.

"Uh, no you don't," Hanamaki points out, still half-choking Iwaizumi with his arms around his neck even as Matsukawa peels himself away from Iwaizumi’s side. Iwaizumi doesn't seem to mind. He might be happy, even.

"I _hate_ to _break up_ this _sweet, beautiful reunion_ ," says Tooru, smiling with as much sickening sugar as he can muster, "but what exactly did you knock over back there?"

Hanamaki's face immediately twists into a terribly guilty expression, and Tooru almost feels bad for ruining the mood. "It was one of the peonies," he mutters under his breath.

Tooru's biting back a curse and already on the move, nearly breaking into a run for the back room until he stops himself so _Iwa-chan_ doesn't grab his collar and force him to a standstill. The door to the back room is wide open, and the peony's on the floor, surrounded in pot shards and its own soil, and he's already checked the roots and grabbed a new pot for repotting by the time Hanamaki pokes his head around the door.

“Is it okay?” he asks in a small voice.

There’s some leftover soil from Tooru’s last project in the corner, and he gingerly carries over both plant and pot in his hands. The plant doesn’t seem too shaken, so Tooru hopes his voice isn’t too tight when he says, “Yes, it’s fine, thankfully. Nothing damaged, it just needs a new pot and it should do alright.” Hanamaki is silent behind him, so he adds, “I know that you know perfectly well how to pot a plant.”

“Yeah,” says Iwaizumi’s voice from the door. “So why aren’t you letting him clean up his own mess?”

Tooru fights to keep his annoyance down, brushing excess dirt off his hands and into the halfway potted plant. He’d forgotten to put on gloves in his hurry, and now there’s going to be more dirt stuck under his nails than usual. “No reason,” he sniffs, standing so he can squint down at Iwaizumi instead of up.

There are always tiny leaves in Iwaizumi’s hair whenever he visits Tooru’s shop and this time’s no exception, except that today there’s also a tiny jasmine flower stuck in his spikes. A mint plant on the floor curls a leaf around his shoelaces. “You’re just making Hanamaki feel bad,” he says, completely oblivious to Tooru’s silent raging at his traitorous plants. “You’re usually better than this.”

Tooru stays silent. Iwaizumi sighs.

“We’re going for lunch, Oikawa,” he says, turning on his heel and heading for the main room. The mint plant is jerked unceremoniously from its shoelace, and it draws its leaf back sulkily. Tooru sticks his tongue out at it until Iwaizumi’s words sink in.

“There’s still three hours until lunch,” Tooru points out, following him out of the back room and past where Matsukawa and Hanamaki are watching, bemused.

Iwaizumi’s already shrugging on his jacket. “Then we can get brunch, or whatever it’s called. No big deal.”

Tooru squints suspiciously at him. “Fine. But you’re paying,” he huffs, reaching for his scarf.

“Fine. Matsukawa, Hanamaki, we’re going out for a real lunch together, later.”

“Sure, it’ll be like old times,” Matsukawa replies, then smacks Hanamaki upside the head so he nods in agreement.

Iwaizumi’s already slid the door open and exited into the crisp morning air, but Tooru hangs back, uncertain. “Makki?”

Hanamaki blinks at him.

“Um,” Tooru tries. “I’m sorry for overreacting.”

Hanamaki glances away for a second, then turns back with one of his rarer smiles, one that isn’t shit-eating or mocking but entirely real. Matsukawa waves, and only then does Tooru feels settled enough to back out of the door in search of Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi obviously wasn’t hungry, since Tooru’s mother had texted him and told him that dear Hajime had stopped by her house in the wee hours of the morning and she’d forced omelettes and coffee on him until he left, presumably for Tooru’s shop. Tooru’s not hungry either, because he’d stopped by his mother’s house the day before for dinner and she’d piled his favourite milk breads on him, which he’d had for breakfast this morning. Instead, they exchange glances and head down the row of shops that Tooru’s little haven is located at the end of.

 

Winter’s only barely begun its thawing and the air is still crisp and dry, which Tooru has never been particularly fond of, just like his mother. _I’m not an evergreen, Tooru_ , she’d say, _and neither are you, so bundle up good_. She’d been wrapping both him and Iwaizumi in too many layers for longer than he can remember. He sneaks a glance at Iwaizumi.

Iwaizumi notices. “What?” he growls.

“So snappy,” Tooru complains. “I just wanted to ask if Mum nagged you about the cold again, is all!”

 

His best friend pulls his hands out of his pockets and regards his fingers with a small smile. “Yeah. Told me off for not putting on gloves, and then tried to give me one of the scarves she just finished making. It took me a while to convince her I was already warm enough.”

Tooru exhales, and delightedly notes that his breath doesn’t fog up anymore, though it’s probably just the warm air from the shop. “I’m surprised Mum stuck with knitting for this long.”

“Flower arranging lasted quite a while, though,” Iwaizumi says with a shrug.

“Yes, but she used to do that all the time!” He sticks his tongue out at Iwaizumi’s disbelieving expression. “Alright, fine, she did something similar, at least.”

Iwaizumi shakes his head. “We see each other for the first time in months, and we’re talking about your mother.”

“You started it! You visited her without running it by me first! She’s _my_ mum, Iwa-chan,” whines Tooru.

“She tells me to call her _okaa-san_ every time she sees me.”

“My mother is a traitor,” Tooru mutters darkly. “You can have her.”

“Appreciate your mum, Oikawa.”

“Don’t worry, Iwa-chan, I’ll always appreciate you! _Ow!_ Not the ribs!”

“We should get something for her, while we’re out here,” Iwaizumi says, glancing at the stores. Tooru notices his gaze lingering on a little corner boutique, and changes his path slightly so Iwaizumi has to either subconsciously veer towards it or eventually walk into Tooru’s shoulder. He still bumps into Tooru’s side once before he starts moving towards it. His Iwa-chan is so dumb.

“You’re too nice to her… I need to win back my title of favourite kid!” Tooru declares.

 

“Good luck with that,” Iwaizumi says, in a dry tone.

“Harsh,” says Tooru.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Iwaizumi immediately clarifies, and it comes out a little worried. Aw. “You know that, right?”

If Iwaizumi is any more distracted they’d walk right past the boutique, so Tooru grabs him by the shoulders and steers him right into the cute pastels of the store. “Yes, I know that, I’m your best friend! Honestly!” He turns a winning smile towards the salesgirl, and continues shoving Iwaizumi further into the shop once she’s shrunk under the intensity of his grin. “The same way I knew you were totally interested in visiting this shop!”

And Tooru can’t see it, but he knows Iwaizumi is rolling his eyes, the way he knows that Iwaizumi’s starting to feel warm under the thick fabric of his jacket, or that Iwaizumi isn’t going to tell any of them why he’s come down to visit unless Tooru does something about it. “Whatever,” his best friend says. “She likes this kinda stuff, doesn’t she? It’s why she started knitting, yeah?”

“That’s what she tells people, yes.” Tooru picks out a baby blue button-up shirt with white polka-dots and holds it up for Iwaizumi to inspect. “Isn’t this cute? Isn’t it?”

“I guess. But it’s the wrong size.”

“It’s not for Mum, Iwa-chan, it’s for me.” He trots over to the nearest mirror and holds it up to his frame to assess. “Aw. Maybe blue isn’t my colour.”

“You said every colour was your colour,” Iwaizumi replies. He’s gingerly lifting a mint sweater with a flowery print up by the hanger, like he’s afraid he’ll drop it if he holds it too hard, or something. Tooru obviously hasn’t spent enough time dragging him out to shop, not that they've had many chances, lately. “Does this size work for your mum, or should I get something bigger?”

 

“Bigger would be nice, but these sorts of shops usually only sell one size, I think.”  

Iwaizumi looks awful worried. "So is it gonna be—”

"It's _fine_ , Iwa-chan, honestly, she can resize! And if she wants to wear it out, she knows how to alter clothes. Honestly," Tooru says, draping the shirt he's picked out over Iwaizumi’s shoulder and steering them towards the salesgirl at the counter, "I'd think you were buying clothes for your special someone, if I didn't know better!"

"Your mother is pretty special," Iwaizumi mutters in response.

"Obviously! She brought me into this world, after all!" There's a brief scuffle as Iwaizumi fends him off from nicking his wallet, because Tooru’s trying to stop him from paying for his shirt along with the present for his mum. The salesgirl eyes them with a great deal of wariness  until Tooru finally stretches his arms almost all the way over Iwaizumi’s head and snatches away the slim black wallet, brandishing it high over his head and cackling as he hands over his own money for payment.

Iwaizumi sighs defeatedly and pays for his own purchase. "She's not the first dryad to have a kid with a human, though," he points out.

"I never said she was," scoffs Tooru. "I'm just saying she's special. Because I'm her kid. And I'm special."

"Sure." Iwaizumi offers a smile and a quick thank you to the salesgirl as he takes his paper bag and leaves the store. Tooru has to scramble to follow. "Whatever you say."

Lunch with Hanamaki and Matsukawa is never boring, as Tooru’s come to find out after almost a year of working with them at his little plant haven. Hanamaki’s always pulling some strange new condiment out of his bag and saying it’s for himself, but ends up sharing all of it anyway. Last week it had been _sambal_ chilli, and even Matsukawa had admitted defeat after Tooru had spooned half the container onto his rice. Not to screw with him or anything! His eyes had been streaming and it was an honest accident! It had been very spicy!

“But I’m the spiciest,” Matsukawa says, after Tooru’s recounted the story to a very amused Iwaizumi.

Tooru groans and drops his head into his hands, and Hanamaki just responds stone-faced with a, “yeah, but you’re a shitty spicy, you just set things on fire.”

“Uh, obviously I don’t,” replies Matsukawa, pressing a finger to the side of his porcelain bowl so flames start licking up the edges, reheating his _don_.

“You’re absolutely right,” says Hanamaki. “I must have been mistaken. Terribly sorry to have wrongly accused you of such a thing.”

“I'm glad you acknowledge your mistakes. It's an honour to associate with a citizen as upstanding as you are."

Hanamaki reaches into his garish bag and pulls out a wad of black cloth, peppered with crumbs that looked like they may once have been part of a larger entity more commonly known as a potato chip. Upon some light shaking, the cloth is quite clearly a fashionable shirt, except where just one slogan or a couple of oversized digits might have been printed, there is instead a square of strangely shimmery fabric. The fabric currently says 'HELLBOY' in bright white varsity-style letters.

“That's my favourite shirt! No wonder I couldn't find it." Matsukawa puts a hand over his heart. “You've betrayed my trust."

“I nicked it, sorry. Had a hot date on Friday."

“That was with me."

“I did say it was a _hot_ date.”

Lunch is never boring, but Tooru knows if he doesn't stop them now, nothing short of the apocalypse will. “Makki—”

“You said you were gonna give me a present, or something," Iwaizumi cuts in, looking up from his own bowl. “Does the offer still stand?”

“Oh, yeah." Hanamaki goes back to rummaging in his bag. Tooru hasn't met many krampuses, but they've always been able to reach in and pick out whatever they want without much too much trouble. Hanamaki has never shown anyone his sack, but Tooru gets the feeling that it’s in a state of constant disarray. “You know how it is with us now, trying to combat the kleptomania with gift-giving, like real-life Father Christmases or something? Yeah, take this."

Iwaizumi looks down at the shoddily-wrapped rectangle in his hands with trepidation. It looks like there's more tape on it than there is wrapping paper. “Thanks?"

“Merry Everydaymas," Hanamaki says cheerfully.

“Is there a rule for opening presents, or can I just open it now?" Iwaizumi asks, flipping the tiny package around as if he's trying to find which way is up.

"I wouldn't advise it," Matsukawa says, just as Hanamaki goes, "Yeah, you totally should."

"Uh." There's mild panic on Iwaizumi's face when he turns to Tooru, utterly bemused, and Tooru can't be bothered to fight down his laugh.

"Well," Tooru says, between snorts, "I'd say it's a fifty-fifty chance that it's _not_ something that'd get us kicked out of this restaurant."

"Why d'you think we always eat in the shop," Matsukawa mutters ominously to himself.

“Don’t we eat in the shop because we can’t miss the lunchtime peak hour?” Iwaizumi asks, completely nonplussed, and is answered with perfectly straight faces. “Okay. Uh. Then I'll just open it when I get back," Iwaizumi says, stuffing the present into his bag. "Thanks again, Hanamaki."

"Always glad to make someone's day better," Hanamaki coos, winking at him.

"When you get back where, though? Tokyo?" Matsukawa asks as he bites at the straw of his drink. "When're you leaving?"

If Tooru didn't know better, he'd almost think Iwaizumi looked _guilty_ , but it's probably just him thinking about how to phrase things, again. "Tomorrow morning," Iwaizumi says.

“Damn.”

There isn’t a hush that falls all melancholic over the table as its occupants contemplate their food, navels, and their friend’s strange decision to visit for barely over twenty-four hours, thankfully. Instead there is a quick jolt back into the way the conversation usually flows for the four of them, Hanamaki speaking up with some ridiculous remark, Matsukawa shooting him down with something even worse, and then Tooru joins one party to rile up the other further. And then Iwaizumi probably cuts in with something snappy. No, that’s not how it works, Iwaizumi doesn’t snap at _everything_ , obviously, so maybe confusion, like before? Or was that just because he can’t remember how to carry himself around—

“Oikawa?”

“Huh?”

“You just stopped in the middle of your sentence,” Matsukawa says. “Werecat got your tongue?”

“Don’t even joke about werecats and tongues, oh my God,” Hanamaki says, “like, this one time, I got to know this one werecat guy, and he was like way past twenty or something but he was tiny as hell, and had hair about the same length as mine but like more brown-y instead so he looked almost like a kid? But then he—“

“I think I’m done eating,” Tooru says, pushing his half-finished bowl of rice towards Iwaizumi. “Iwa-chan, could you help me finish the rest? I need to check on my peo—orchids, they’re very fragile!” He flashes them all a winning smile. “See you all in the store later! You too, Iwa-chan, don’t give me any of that places to go, errands to run business now that I know you’re only here for a day!”

Iwaizumi blinks up at him, face unreadable. “Okay.”

“Oh!” says Tooru as he wraps his scarf around his neck. “And we’re visiting my mum tonight, okay?”

“Again?”

“I’m going to see her later, so you might as well come along. You bought a present, so you were definitely thinking about visiting again. See! I can read you just fine.” Tooru grins.

“I never said you couldn’t,” Iwaizumi says, pushing his own bowl aside in favour of Tooru’s leftovers. “And this is the only time I’ll let you overwork yourself instead of eating, while I’m here. Don’t you two ever tell him off for it?”

“Ehh, sometimes,” Hanamaki says.

“That is to say, not much of the time,” adds Matsukawa.

“He’s too good at his job, there’s no talking sense to him.”

“Worst-best boss ever,” Matsukawa agrees.

“Mattsun! Makki!” Tooru begins to scold, then has to stop himself. “I can’t tell if you two are complimenting me or not, so I’m not going to make you both show up for double shifts.”

“Bleh,” Hanamaki says. “Just shoo off, already.”

Tooru knows he’s running. He’s not sure what from, but atleast he knows where he’s running to. He lifts the little handmade ‘out for food!’ sign on the door—one of his two friends had drawn a frog-like creature with upswept hair underneath it with a bowl of ramen, presumably a terrible avatar for Tooru himself—and lets himself in.

On the days where he feels like his world might fall apart if he makes just one more mistake, he opens up shop at five in the morning, shuts every door tight to keep the cold out, and curls up beside the miniature tree in the back room. Sometimes it’s to take a quick nap before a customer shows up, or to sing his mother’s old songs to it, or to read a book, if he’d picked one up from the library, or just to fiddle with his phone until he gets bored of all his games or until it ran out of battery, whichever comes first.

He sits down beside the miniature tree now—definitely not a bonsai, she’s far too big and too tall for that, but she’d always been content to stay inside her pot, and had never once expressed the want for wide open spaces and plenty of sky that all Tooru’s other residents had.  She’d been a gift from Mum, and Tooru figured that meant she was magic, but she’d never done anything no matter how much Tooru had prodded at her. Maybe she’s a lucky charm, or something to ward off evil spirits? Tooru doesn’t know. His mother had always been a little strange, for a dryad.

“You in here?” Iwaizumi says, poking his head around the back room door. He must have been walking under the jasmine flowers again, because there are now at least three blooms in his hair and a couple of leaves and petals stuck to his woolly sweater. Warm air sifts in from outside, probably courtesy of Matsukawa, and Tooru hears the peonies cheer, feels the miniature tree shake out its branches in appreciation.

“No,” Tooru says, trying to ignore the way the miniature tree has gone very silent, like she doesn’t know what to say, or doesn’t want to. Thanks, mum. “Nobody’s in this room.”

“Then I hope _nobody_ disturbs me while I spend the rest of my day in here.” Iwaizumi lets himself in, laptop and phone in tow, and sets up camp on the other side of the miniature tree. Tooru can see that there’s a bright green leaf stuck in Iwaizumi’s shoelaces, courtesy of the mint plant outside, and spitefully considers giving it a little more water than usual. The miniature tree gives him a gentle chiding and lets one of its shrivelled leaves fall onto Tooru’s knee.

Tooru eyes Iwaizumi’s laptop with suspicion. “That’s not work, is it?”

Iwaizumi eyes him back. “So what if it is? You’re at work right now.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to be on holiday! And I’m slacking off!”

“Oikawa, you’re reading a book on tropical deciduous trees.”

Tooru moves the book somewhat guiltily out of Iwaizumi’s line of sight. “I’m not the only one with a hobby as a job!”

He glares a challenge at Iwaizumi, but Iwaizumi just turns back to his screen with a small shrug. “Fair enough, but you’re not allowed to say that what I’m doing now is work.”

“Oh, no, you’re not allowed to pull that on me. That is definitely work, you are getting paid for that, but this,” Tooru says, raising his library book, “is something I’m doing for fun!”

“Really.”

“Iwa-chan, does it look like we sell entire trees in this shop?”

Iwaizumi gives the miniature tree a pointed look. The miniature tree responds with prim disdain at the notion of ever being sold, and threatens to have a snail dropped onto his head.

“She’s offended,” Tooru translates.

“Sorry. Just trying to prove a point, since she’s a deciduous tree and all. Is that right?”

Tooru blinks. “You’re right. How’d you remember?”

Iwaizumi sends a tired, exasperated glance his way. “It hasn’t been that long, you know.”

“Long enough.”

“It’s still winter, and her leaves are almost all gone. That means she’s deciduous, like your mum.”

“Excellent,” Tooru remarks. “Basic baby botanist knowledge, but, you know, still excellent coming from you.”

“Don’t make me throw my charger at you.”

“You know I don’t ever make you do anything, Iwa-chan,” Tooru sing-songs.

Iwaizumi folds himself further into the wall. “Yeah, yeah.”

The Blue Castle doesn’t see many real customers, since most come in for the atmosphere, Matsukawa’s pastries, or the occasional photoshoot, but Tooru considers himself in charge of both fronts of his shop, and it’s not long before he finds himself out of the back room, smiling at customers and taking orders and making small talk. He’s in this for his plants, but he’s never not enjoyed running the tiny café on the side.

“Takahiro!” Matsukawa calls from the kitchen. “Could you hand me some whipped cream? I’m running out.”

Hanamaki looks up from glaring at a pair of girls eyeing one of his prized orchids. “It’s in my bag, get it yourself.”

“Ha ha, very funny. C’mon, I have to finish this latte.”

“Okay, okay.” Hanamaki sends one last glare to the oblivious pair, and plods off to the kitchen. Tooru watches him go, trailing his fingers across the soil of one of the tiny potted cacti on the counter and idly teasing an unopened bud into full bloom.

One of the two girls who’d turned away from the orchids to watch Tooru’s handiwork claps delightedly. “It’s so cute! Can I buy that one?”

“Of course! Cacti are definitely a lot easier to care for than orchids,” Tooru says, reaching for one of their carrier bags to put the pot into, “and are no less loving, if I might add.”

The girl laughs as she takes out her wallet, though her friend ducks her head and blushes a bit. “Shimizu has a bit of a soft spot for orchids, and we just wanted to check the prices.”

“I could always give you a discount.” He rings up the purchase with a practised hand, and hands the change and a permanent marker to the girl. “I really just want them all to go to good, caring homes.”

Shimizu’s eyes open wide and. Tooru is suddenly struck by how _beautiful_ she is. “Yui,” she breathes.

Yui notices the look on Shimizu’s face and waves the marker around in distress. “Ah! Well, um, that’d be really nice of you! But we don’t know how to care for orchids, so…”

“It’s not a problem, I can have our resident orchid expert give you both a crash course,” Tooru says with a shrug as Yui carefully writes ‘Ki-chan’ in neat characters onto the little hello-my-name-is sticker on the cactus pot. Shimizu blushes again. “And you can always come back if it gets sick, and I’ll take a look at it for you.”

Now it’s Yui’s turn to have her eyes go wide. “Honestly? For free?”

“Plant consultations come free with each pastry bought,” Tooru jokes. “But like I said, I just want them to go to good homes.”

“That’d be wonderful,” Shimizu says, with a voice like heavenly bells.

“Alright, then!” Tooru snaps his fingers. “Makki!”

Hanamaki leans out of the kitchen, a latte in each hand. “Like, I’m not your dog, but what’s up?”

“Could you please give these two lovely ladies a lesson on orchid care?”

“Um,” Hanamaki says, looking down at the cups in his hands, then glancing back at the kitchen. “I gotta—”

“Let me handle that,” Iwaizumi says, appearing out of nowhere to pry the cups from Hanamaki’s hands. “Where to?”

“Oh, thanks. The couple in the armchairs, beside the mint.” Hanamaki turns to the two girls. “Alright, who’s ready for some educating?”

“You can pick Ki-chan up after you guys are done,” Tooru calls after them. Yui eyes Hanamaki’s horns with unabashed curiosity, but Shimizu clutches at her hand and turns a shockingly brilliant smile on Tooru. He’s left feeling more than a little dazed, his mind racing as he clutches at the tiny cactus in his hands.

Then something hits his head with a dull _thunk_ , and suddenly he feels a lot less woozy and a lot more like Iwaizumi has just thrown his laptop charger at his head.

“You just threw your laptop charger at my head,” says Tooru.

“I said I’d do it, didn’t I,” Iwaizumi says, picking the charger up off the floor and sitting himself down on the other barstool behind the counter to examine it for dents, presumably. “She’s a siren, stupid.”

“Oh,” Tooru says, stupidly.

Finding the charger (quite unfairly) undamaged, Iwaizumi begins the task of coiling the wire back around it, kicking at the floor so he’s spinning idly around in his chair. “For someone who’s magic, you’re shit at figuring these things out.”

“I’m only half-magic!”

“And I’m no-magic,” Iwaizumi reminds him.

“Yeah, well, it’s hard to tell sometimes,” Tooru says with a grand sniff.

“I’m flattered.”

“As you very well should be.”

“Hey, uh,” Matsukawa says, sticking his head around the kitchen door. He’s wearing the shirt from before, except it now sports a vector drawing of grey and white flames, along with a large smattering of flour. “Can one of you help me carry these out to the display so I can clean up?”

“I’ll do it!” Tooru says, just as Iwaizumi gets up and off his chair, heading in the direction of the kitchen. “No, Iwa-chan, no working! You’re a guest!”

Iwaizumi whirls around, quick as a whip, and Tooru’s so startled that he’s rooted to the ground, eyes wide, words stuck in his throat. “Oikawa,” Iwaizumi says, voice quiet with urgency, but not with anger, or frustration, or annoyance, or anything even remotely like those things. “Just let me do this, just for one day.”

Tooru doesn’t know what to say. He knows from the calm, unbothered way Ki-chan the cactus whispers that none of the customers have noticed, but that Hanamaki and Matsukawa are watching. Worried. “Okay,” he manages.

Iwaizumi exhales. “Good.”

Barely an hour later, and Iwaizumi’s weaving back and forth between kitchen and main room, smiling and charming customers with the gruff, easy-going way Tooru’s only ever seen him use on the underclassmen, back when they were both still playing volleyball in high school. Tooru watches with both amusement and annoyance as Iwaizumi walks under the hanging plants again, serving pastries to a pair of schoolboys with sweet-smelling petals scattered in his hair.

“Iwa-chan, you’re killing my flowers,” Tooru whines as Iwaizumi passes him on the way back to the kitchen.

Iwaizumi looks slightly alarmed. “I am?”

“Hey,” Matsukawa says, “I just finished cleaning up the kitchen. No plant debris in here, I get enough of that shit from Hanamaki.” He takes the dirty plates from Iwaizumi and shoos him unceremoniously out of the kitchen. “Get outta here.”

Tooru sighs and goes over to pick the petals out of Iwaizumi’s hair, dropping them on the counter one by one. “I rest my case.”

“Oh,” Iwaizumi says as he tilts his head down a little for Tooru to reach the bits in the back more easily. “Tell them to stop, then.”

“I already have!” Tooru huffs. “They won’t listen to me!” He picks out one last petal. “There, that’s the last of it.”

“Thanks.” Iwaizumi runs his hands through his hair. “They never used to do that.”

“Of course they didn’t. I raise good, well-behaved plants.”

“So is this a rebellious phase?” Iwaizumi asks, eyeing him sceptically.

“Ha,” Tooru says.

It takes some creative pleading on Tooru’s part to finally get the trellis flowers to stop squandering petals for no discernible reason, but the restless murmuring in Tooru’s head doesn’t stop until he finds a cluster of freshly-fallen jasmine blooms on the floor, and beckons Iwaizumi over so he can tuck them behind his ear. Iwaizumi checks his reflection in the window, and laughs softly under his breath. “You haven’t done this since we were kids,” he says, grinning more widely than Tooru has seen in months. “Thanks.”

“Just trying to keep them quiet,” Tooru tries to respond as dismissively as he can, but Iwaizumi’s good mood is strangely infectious, embedding itself into all the corners of the shop and persisting through the rest of the day.

The shop’s been closed for a good fifteen minutes now, but Tooru’s still carefully placing peony pots into carrying boxes when Iwaizumi comes to get him. “It’s going to be sundown soon if you don’t hurry up with that,” Iwaizumi warns.

“Iwa-chan, you can’t rush these things! Here.” Tooru hands him one of the baby peonies. “You’re in charge of this one now.”

“What’s ‘in charge’ supposed to mean,” Iwaizumi says, frowning, but takes the pot from him anyway.

“I’m taking these to Mum, and since you’re coming along I can take two to her instead of just one.” Tooru lifts his own pot with a peace sign. “This one’s mine!”

“So you’re making me go see your mum with you because you want free labour.”

“Absolutely.”

“You should thank your lucky stars that I love your mum,” Iwaizumi sighs, heading out of the back room with his travel bag over one shoulder and the pot in his hands. “It’s the only thing saving you from a good beaning right now.”

“Mm-hmm.” Tooru glances around the shop as he follows behind Iwaizumi with his baby peony. “Where are Makki and Mattsun? Have they gone?”

Iwaizumi gives him an odd look. “Yeah? They had a thing tonight?”

“Did they? Ah, right, Mattsun texted me yesterday to tell me they had to go off early. That’s that, then,” Tooru says, putting his pot down onto the counter so he can bundle up for the journey. “I wish I could join them, but I already told Mum I’d drop by today.”

“I don’t think they’d appreciate you crashing their outing tonight?” It’s more question than statement, like he’s confused.

Tooru blinks back at him as he puts his coat on, also confused now. “I always crash their outings, though?”

The question on Iwaizumi’s face gives way to realisation, and then something more like exasperation. “Oikawa. What day is it today?”

“It’s Sunday?”

“And you usually open the shop on Sundays?”

“Well, yes,” Tooru says, a little guiltily. “But it’s usually just me on Sundays! I don’t make Mattsun or Makki show up on Sundays. I don’t know why they’re here today, actually.”

Iwaizumi groans. “And I assume you thought all those couples that dropped by today were here for fun.”

“I like to think the Blue Castle has a very tranquil, relaxing ambiance, and if that’s what people want when they’re on a date, then I’m wholly supportive of it!” says Tooru somewhat defensively.

“Oh my God. Oikawa.” Iwaizumi puts his hands on his shoulders, and Tooru makes a small ‘ _eep_ ’ sound at the sudden contact. “ _It’s Valentine’s Day._ ”

“Oh,” Tooru says. “ _Oh_.”

“Yes, _oh_.”

“Are you going to hit me for not remembering dates?” Tooru asks, voice small. “Because it’s not from overworking, okay, it’s completely normal, and we don’t even have special holiday promotions or anything like that.”

“You run a café.”

“I run a botanist’s!” Tooru objects. “The café thing was a side project because you’re good with people and coffee and Mattsun bakes well!”

Iwaizumi sighs and opens the door, but then a sharp draft blows in and he quickly shuts it, though he doesn’t let go of the handle. “Coffee, huh?”

“It’s coding now,” Tooru says, picking up his baby peony again and getting his keys out to lock up the shop. “Isn’t it?”

Iwaizumi pushes the door open with finality this time, and they both hurry out into the cold so they can shut the warmth in. He rocks onto his heels as he waits for Tooru to lock up. “You always phrase things you already know like it’s a question,” says Iwaizumi, as he squints up at the grey sky. “What’s up with that?”

“I don’t like being wrong,” Tooru shrugs.

“I get that.”

It’s a bit too soft, but Iwaizumi’s turned on his heel towards the station the moment Tooru has the key out of the lock and into his bag, and Tooru can’t make eye contact. The back of his heavy wool coat is as unreadable as the bland stone of the pavement.

They manage to snag seats on the train, nothing short of a miracle at this hour on a Sunday. Tooru has his hands wrapped around the baby peony for most of the ride, partially to keep it away from the throng of commuters as well as warm, and partially to anchor himself—to keep himself in the present and the now. He hopes the cold doesn’t touch Iwaizumi’s peony too harshly, but Iwaizumi’s practically curled protectively over the little pot when he peers over at him, and he figures it’ll be alright.

The crowd pours out of the train three stops later and takes Tooru and Iwaizumi with it, and they drift both together and apart until they’re out of the station, where the sun’s already dipped the city in the warmest hues of orange and yellow and red. His mother’s house is a little ways away from the loudest bustling in Miyagi, built properly into the countryside. Tooru remembers dragonflies, dirtied shirts and scraped knees, and tossing a ball back and forth, higher and higher and higher until he fell over laughing from a mixture of the midday glare and leaning too far backwards. He risks a glance at Iwaizumi—his eyes reflect the expanse of sky as he watches the sun set behind the tiny row of houses, dark irises shining like liquid fire. Tooru has to look away, and only remembers that he’s supposed to be cold when iced-up leaves crunch under his shoes.

It doesn’t take long for the ordinary outside viewer to notice that the house isn’t the usual countryside home, either through the realisation that it seems to take up two plots of land instead of one, or that the supposed backyard of the otherwise plain house could be more appropriately labelled a miniature forest, with a large, leafless, fully-grown tree right in the centre. Tooru hands his peony over to Iwaizumi for a second as he fumbles for his non-work key ring, and picks out the right key to unlock the front door.

The house smells like…home. Like damp soil and good cooking and things made with love. Iwaizumi shuts the door behind him and locks it with a click, while Tooru kicks off his shoes and flicks on the lights. There’s no one in the living room or the kitchen and the upstairs lights aren’t on, but the sliding screen door to the backyard is wide open, even though the house is warm and untouched by the evening chill. Tooru doesn’t bother taking off his coat before retrieving the peonies from Iwaizumi’s hands and heading straight for the door. “Mum,” he calls, stepping down with his bare feet onto the soft grass. “Mum, I’m home!”

He feels her arrival before he hears her cheerful “Tooru!” as the whispering of the garden grows from quiet and calm to something jumpier, delighted. “Tooru, did you bring our dear Hajime?”

“Wow, Mum, I’ve been in the house a minute and you’re asking about Iwa-chan.” Tooru knows from the way the rhythm of the bougainvillea lining the doorway starts growing excitable that Iwaizumi’s not far behind him, so he puts on a pout and puts the baby peonies down. “It’s been longer since you last saw me than you saw him, you know.”

A tall, broad-shouldered woman in a hugely oversized woollen sweater and yoga pants steps out from behind the trunk of the large tree in the centre of the garden, holding a basket of brightly-coloured balls of yarn. She places the basket down onto one of the mismatched tables around the tree, and darts forward towards Tooru. Her feet are bare, and not a single strand of hair grows on her head.

“Oh, Tooru,” she says, reaching out to pull Tooru into a hug. Tooru’s standing at full height, and his head just barely reaches her shoulder. “You know I’m always happy to see either of you, and Hajime’s been a bit further away than just a train ride. Come here, you,” she directs towards Iwaizumi, who steps forward with a sheepish smile and lets himself be pulled into her embrace. “It’s so good to see you both together at once, again.”

“I missed you too, Oikawa-san,” Iwaizumi laughs.

“As you very well should.” Tooru’s mother releases them both and gives them a critical once-over. “I see you’ve both been dressing warmly. Excellent. Are either of you hungry? I have some ingredients left to cook something up.”

“That’d be great, Mum. Thanks.”

“It’s never a problem,” she says, stepping past them and into the house, where she slips on a pair of house slippers over her feet. Tree bark grows over the knuckles of her toes and fingers, though her claws seem to have been recently filed back down into short, nail-length stubs. Her face, too, is lined extensively with bark, spreading past her cheeks and temples seemingly in place of where a human’s wrinkles would be, but there’s no missing the otherworldly beauty and grace with which she carries herself.

Tooru’s mother’s cooking isn’t anything spectacular, but always still tastes just as wonderful as Tooru remembers. “Do you still remember things from when you were doing cooking as a hobby?” Iwaizumi asks, between bites of egg and ham.

“Hajime! That was from so long ago,” she laughs. “How old were you two again?”

“Eight or nine, I think,” says Tooru. “I remember you making some pretty strange stuff for me to take to school.”

“I probably did,” his mother agrees. “No hard feelings, though?”

“Some of it was pretty good,” Tooru admits, a little grudgingly. “No hard feelings.”

His mother beams, and Tooru knows it’s just because the land is tied to her tree now, but a quiet calm falls over him like a soft blanket, and he feels his shoulders relax. Blue Castle is his love and his livelihood, but nothing beats home.

Speaking of home. “How’s _nee-san_?” Tooru asks mildly.

“Ah, her last message was through the bluebells, since she doesn’t get any reception out there.” She examines her hands, both bigger than Tooru’s face. “She says she is doing well and has met a couple other dryads, but has yet to locate my old grove.”

“Maybe they moved out,” Iwaizumi says.

“The way I did?” Tooru’s mother laughs.

Iwaizumi just shrugs. “Maybe. You might have been an inspiration.”

She smiles, and it’s affectionate, but also a little nostalgic. “I loved the city, but none of us were made to live here. I just happened to integrate well. Even Tooru’s sister has left for the groves, in search of someplace she belongs.” A sigh. “Too much dryad in her, but not enough tree.”

“You’ve got me, mum.” Tooru hazards a grin. “Too much human, still not enough tree.”

“You’re a sweetheart, Tooru. You know I love both you and your sister very much.” Tooru’s mother claps her hands together, as if she’d just remembered something. “Oh! You brought the baby flowers for me, didn’t you, Tooru? I forgot all about them!”

“Ah, me too,” Tooru says, standing up. “I’ll help you with them.”

“No, Tooru, sit down, finish your food, and then go take a shower.” She closes her eyes for a second and hums a little before adding, “One of them has some damaged roots. I’m glad you brought it here before it becomes something I cannot fix.”

“There was an accident today,” mumbles Tooru as he sits back down and picks up his fork. “I didn’t handle it very well. It might have been me.”

“No worries, dear,” his mother says, patting his hair with a large, calloused hand. “It will be just fine here with me, now. Wash your own dishes, saplings.”

Tooru lets himself shudder once his mother steps out into the backyard and out of earshot. “ _Saplings_ ,” he hisses at Iwaizumi.

His best friend of twenty whole years snorts at him. “I don’t know, it’s cute.”

“You seriously need to stop thinking that my mum is cool.”

Soft singing drifts through the open door and into the house, and Tooru can taste petrichor and rye on his tongue—earth magic. Iwaizumi hums absently along to the tune of the healing song, familiar to them both. His voice isn’t anything of note, but it carries a tune well enough, and Tooru can feel the magic growing stronger, just a little. There’s a small pause before Iwaizumi meets Tooru’s gaze and shrugs, completely unapologetically. “She is pretty damn cool.”

Tooru hasn’t heard the songs of the oaks or the meadows, but he’s heard his mother’s grand oak tree sing lullabies to him as a child, and sometimes the miniature tree whispers more loudly to him than usual, and it sounds almost like a melody. “I’m gonna be as cool as her, someday,” he says, instead of singing along like his heart wants to.

“You will be,” Iwaizumi says, as Tooru picks up their empty plates to carry to the kitchen. “I don’t doubt it.”

It doesn’t take as long for Tooru to shower as it usually does, since he’s left most of his products back in his flat and his mother’s house stocks only the barest of essentials for if anyone happens to stay over. There’s almost no trace of winter in the house, but Tooru takes a warm shower anyway to prepare for spending the rest of the evening sitting out in the relative chill of the backyard.

Both Iwaizumi and his mother are sitting in the grass when Tooru steps out of the shower, towel around his neck. His mother teaches Iwaizumi one of the first songs she’d taught Tooru and his sister when they were children, and Iwaizumi’s stumbling over the words but sings the lilting melody with quiet confidence. The peony he’s singing to doesn’t burst into bloom as it’s supposed to, but Tooru can hear its pleased humming, and he feels a sudden rush of affection for the two people sitting out on the grass, in the deepening twilight.

He steps forward as he sings along with Iwaizumi under his breath, the words practised on his tongue,and there’s a small surge of warmth down Tooru’s spine as the peony unfurls one of its buds. Iwaizumi blinks in surprise before turning about and spotting him, but he doesn’t frown the way Tooru had expected him to. “Good,” he says, getting up and stretching, “now it’s finally my turn to shower.”

“I didn’t take that long,” Tooru protests as he sits himself down onto the grass as well. He’s wearing his dingy black shorts, and they’ve been stained so much that he doesn’t care about getting it any dirtier. Iwaizumi, on the other hand, sports a clear soil stain on the seat of his blue jeans, and Tooru tries not to laugh. “You might want to change your pants?”

Iwaizumi brushes off the offending area without even sparing a glance. “Whatever, it’ll come out eventually,” he says, trundling off into the house.

“Remember not to break promises, Hajime,” Tooru’s mother calls after him. “Not even those to yourself.”

“I’ll remember that, Oikawa-san,” Iwaizumi says, looking _embarrassed_ as he hurries away.

Tooru turns to his mother with a look of wonder. “Mum, what did you _say_ to him?”

She just smiles, and taps one of the other peony’s leaves with one finger. The leaf stretches almost imperceptibly up towards her, as though she were the sun and not just one dryad, alone in the city. “The things I have said are not as important as the things he will say in the future.”

“Wow, deep.” Tooru pulls his knees up to his chest, and watches the peonies whisper. They never speak real words, not in any language, and they are never as eloquent as his miniature tree or his mother’s grand one, but he gleans impressions nonetheless—curiosity at a new home, with skies and clouds and no walls.

“If you are feeling bad about keeping your plants cooped up,” his mother says, before Tooru can form any sort of reaction to the peonies, “then I suggest you stop.”

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“I can read your mind, sapling,” she says, waggling her fingers at him. “You know you are helping them spread their seeds further into the city than they ever could, and so you should be proud, instead of guilty.”

It’s difficult to take a mother’s words to heart sometimes, just because you’ve heard them so often, but Tooru tries his best to believe her. “Thanks, Mum.”

“You’re welcome. Did you know Hajime bought me a shirt? He’s a good boy. Listen to what he has to say.” She stands at her full height, and though the winter means she doesn’t have any hair for the wind to tease, Tooru gets the impression of a breeze raking through the leaves of her grand oak tree. “I’ll be knitting by my tree, if either of you need me.” She turns to leave before Tooru gets the chance to ask her what exactly Iwaizumi has to say, but then she pauses, and turns back with a smile. “Happy Valentines’ Day, Tooru.”

Tooru thinks about his dad and his mum, a slightly faded memory in his mind. The oddest of couples, but they'd been happy nonetheless. “Happy Valentines’ to you too, Mum.”

Iwaizumi comes back out onto the porch smelling like lavender-scented shampoo, all traces of the morning’s cologne gone. Tooru doesn’t recognise the worn-out pair of track pants, but he figures they’ve probably been through their fair share of ruin with how Iwaizumi simply plops himself carelessly down onto the grass. There’s a bottle of amber liquid and two shot glasses in his hands, and he hands one to Tooru.

“Where’d you get that?” Tooru asks, curious and thoroughly amused. “Did you carry that in your bag the whole way here?”

“Oh, this?” Iwaizumi laughs and hands the bottle to Tooru. Upon closer inspection, the liquid is more yellow than amber, and most definitely isn’t anything resembling alcohol. “It’s apple juice from your mother’s fridge.”

“Way to ruin someone’s expectations, Iwa-chan.”

“Children shouldn’t drink,” Iwaizumi says, mildly.

“Mean Iwa-chans don’t deserve any apple juice!”

Iwaizumi raises his hands in defeat. “I rest my case.” Tooru sticks his tongue out at him but fills both their shot glasses with juice, anyway.

Oikawa Tooru’s never been comfortable with silences. But the stars are bright out here, far enough away from the busiest areas of the city, and it isn’t until he’s sitting right where home is that he remembers how much he’d missed it. So he sits, quiet, and listens to Iwaizumi’s breathing and the whispering of his mother’s garden until he has the sounds memorised—until they blend right into each other, almost as if the night were a song. Tooru’s song, about the scant few places where he’d never had to painstakingly carve out a spot for himself, where he’d always belonged.

It’s only after they’ve exhausted the apple juice and after Tooru falls asleep sitting up and almost tips over so Iwaizumi has to shunt him first to the toilet, then to his old bedroom just in case Tooru falls over again—it isn’t until after all that, right before Tooru head sinks into his pillow, that Iwaizumi sighs and flicks him so lightly on the forehead Tooru barely feels it. “Happy Valentines’ Day,” he mumbles, before he leaves and shuts the bedroom door.

 

Tooru’s mother insists on personally tying each of their scarves around their necks before they leave. She’s run clean out of milk breads to make Tooru take, and Tooru cackles in triumph until she threatens to have Miyagi’s wildlife personally deliver milk bread to his door.

“I thought dryads don’t do that anymore!” Tooru yelps.

“They probably would if I asked and told them why, though.” She crosses her arms over the shirt Iwaizumi had gifted her and looks pleasantly smug. “I know a great many sympathetic mother birds.”

“ _Mums,_ ” Tooru groans.

“ _Saplings_ ,” his mother retaliates.

“I can get milk bread whenever I want! You should make them deliver to Iwa-chan, instead.”

“Tokyo’s a little far, is it not?” She notices the look on Tooru’s face, and corrects, “Tokyo is a lot far. I couldn’t do that to the birds.”

“Birds have wings and they should use them!”

“I can get milk bread whenever I want in Tokyo, stop exaggerating,” Iwaizumi grunts, and Tooru can’t help but feel it’s directed at both Tooru and his mother. “I’ll be going now, Oikawa-san.”

“Oh, Hajime,” she says, reaching out to pat his cheek. The huge shirt he’d given her had been a bit too small, but she’d adjusted her humanoid form to a slightly shorter frame that wouldn’t rip the poor shirt. “Come back anytime, and send my regards to your parents.”

Iwaizumi looks like he wants to scowl. “I won’t be seeing them once more before I leave, so I don’t think I can do that. ”

“Hm,” Tooru’s mother says. “Then you’d better come back, so you can.”

Iwaizumi starts a little. “I hope I will,” he says, like he doesn’t believe the words. Tooru’s mother ruffles his hair affectionately anyway.

“See you soon, Mum!” Tooru calls behind him as they start down the path back to the railway station. His mother leans against the door frame and waves, looking for all the world like just another mother seeing off her child.

Iwaizumi’s phone buzzes from his jacket, and he makes a little questioning sound in the back of his throat as he reads it. “Matsukawa says he and Hanamaki are going to drop by to see me off at the railway.”

“How are they both awake at seven a.m.?”

“Not a clue. Are you okay with opening Blue Castle late today?”

Tooru turns to look at Iwaizumi, to consider his profile like it’s abstract art and like Tooru’s trying to glean answers from each careless word, each throwaway sentence. “Blue Castle is important to me, but I’m not going to ditch you just to go open up the shop.”

Iwaizumi doesn’t meet his gaze, but he exhales, and his breath fogs up in front of him, just a bit. “Thanks, I guess.”

They’re early, so they camp out at a nearby coffeeshop while waiting for Matsukawa and Hanamaki to show up or for Iwaizumi’s train to arrive, whichever came first. Tooru declares that the cookies are so good they’re probably witchcraft. The tall, freckled boy serving them laughs so hard he almost spills their orders, and his even taller colleague primly informs them that baker is, indeed, a witch, and he would gladly pass on Tooru’s opinions on the cookies to him, while Iwaizumi laughs so hard at Tooru’s expression that he does, in fact, spill some of his latte over the edge of the cup.

Then Matsukawa and Hanamaki actually show up, and Iwaizumi just barely manages to stop them from riling up the coffeeshop’s staff enough that all hell breaks loose. “No pun intended,” he quickly says, shooting Matsukawa down with a well-aimed glare.

“I still feel so honoured,” Matsukawa says, placing a hand on his chest and closing his eyes out of sheer emotion. “Hajime actually made a lame pun about my lesser demon status, intentionally or otherwise. I should write this down,” he says, whipping out a tiny green notebook Tooru knows perfectly well is his personal recipe book.

“Someone’s not even the krampus at this table and they’re already trying to steal ideas,” Hanamaki jeers.

“Whoever said I was writing down ideas?” Matsukawa flips his book so the pages are clearly visible, and he’s doodled a crudely drawn penis in the margins, labelled with a 花 and sporting little horns. Hanamaki snorts so loud the some other patrons turn to stare.

“I just hope,” Iwaizumi says, “that you never take any disciples or pass this book down any generations.”

“Aw, are you jealous, Hajime? Wait, wait, I’ll just draw all of us.” He continues scribbling with his pen even as Iwaizumi’s mouth twitches like it doesn’t know if he wants to frown disapprovingly or grin childishly. “There, it’s us,” he says, showing off his handiwork.

“Why is this one so big?” Hanamaki asks, pointing at the one with pointy horns instead of curled ones, clearly twice the size of the other three.

“It’s me, because I’m obviously the one with the biggest d—”

“Because you _are_ the biggest dick at this table,” Tooru interjects pleasantly.

Matsukawa slams his notebook onto the table for dramatic effect, gasping sharply. “Oikawa Tooru, I am _hurt_! I made your drawing extra cute and this is how you treat me?”

“I don’t care how many flowers you draw onto it, dick drawings aren’t cute!”

“Flower boys are supposed to be cute, aren’t they?”

“I’m a _tree_ , get it right! And use your shitty flower pick-up lines on someone else!”

“Already have,” Matsukawa says, smugly.

“Gross.”

“Speaking of pick-up lines,” Hanamaki says. “Hajime, have you already asked—”

“No.” Iwaizumi looks like he’s taken aback at how harsh the word sounds, cutting through Hanamaki’s sentence. “No, I haven’t,” he says again, with less edge.

Hanamaki exchanges a glance with Matsukawa. “We shouldn’t have come here, huh.”

“Maybe,” Iwaizumi says, sounding small. Tooru can count the number of times Iwaizumi’s spoken like that on one hand, and he feels his stomach sink.

“Why not?” he asks. “Is this about your parents? You saw them yesterday, right? I thought they were both proud of you, when you got your job? Is this about you taking time off to visit, do I need to—”

“Slow _down_ , Oikawa,” Iwaizumi snaps, then puts his head in his hands when he sees the shock on Tooru’s face, and sighs. “No, you don’t have to sic your mum on them, they’re fine, and I’m fine. Though,” he adds, turning a pained, wry grin to Tooru, “they probably won’t be for very long.”

Tooru can’t ever look at Iwaizumi for too long, so he turns to his other two friends, instead. “You both know what he’s talking about.”

“Only in the most basic of terms,” Matsukawa says, without a trace of his usual teasing drawl. “And you’re better off asking him than either of us.” He stands, abruptly, and Hanamaki rises to join him. “We’ll see you at the boarding platform,” he tells them. Hanamaki directs a small salute to Iwaizumi, and then they’re weaving their way out of the little coffeeshop. If Tooru cared, he would probably have been able to hear some sighs of relief from the other patrons, but he’s focused entirely on the man who’s been providing more questions than he did answers for the past year.

“So, Iwa-chan,” Tooru says, steepling his fingers. “We need to talk.”

Iwaizumi huffs amusedly. “That’s pretty obvious.”

“That’s the calmest reaction I’ve ever seen to the phrase ‘we need to talk’, Iwa-chan,” muses Tooru. “You never cease to impress.”

“Just get to the point, Oikawa.”

“No, you get to the point!” The little potted plant on their table sways a little, and Tooru remembers something. “My mum mentioned you had something to say to me? Spill.”

Iwaizumi grimaces. “You always had a knack for digging out the most difficult way to do things.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie, and you know it,” Tooru says, tapping his finger on the table. “You were the difficult one, not me.”

“It’s barely been three months,” Iwaizumi says, softly, like he’s afraid of the words, “and we’re already referring to ourselves in past tense.”

Tooru’s hands freeze around his nearly-empty cup of coffee. “I’m… sorry?” he tries.

“For what? Not pinning me to the floor with ivy so I can’t leave again?” There’s a wry smile on his face, and Tooru has to look away, running a finger over the soil of the potted plant.

_“It’ll be in Tokyo,” Iwaizumi says, and there’s a spark in his eye Tooru remembers seeing a long time ago, back in high school, amid the squeak of sports shoes and the echo of spikes slammed into polished floors. “It’s going to be tough finding an apartment, but my parents are really happy about this, so they’re willing to help look for one.”_

_Hanamaki chokes on his drink. “Tokyo,” he says. “You did like one competition in uni. One.”_

_“I know,” breathes Iwaizumi. “It’s like a miracle.”_

_He turns to Tooru like he’s awaiting a response from him, just him, and the whispering of the jasmine grows loud in Tooru’s ears. “It really is,” Tooru says._

“I’ll have you know I actually considered that, three months ago.” He puts on a small smile of his own. “Mattsun had to talk me out of it.”

Iwaizumi rubs sheepishly at the back of his neck. “Is that why your plants keep growing all over me?”

There’s even a tiny white petal trapped in his spikes right now, right above his temple, trembling slightly in the wind. _Probably_. “Don’t flatter yourself,” Tooru says, snorting.

“Well, anyway,” Iwaizumi says, not meeting his eye. “I’m a little disappointed that you didn’t.”

Tooru’s head snaps back up to squint at him. “Why?”

Iwaizumi takes a breath, holds it, and then exhales. “I’m going to quit my job,” he says.

_“I guess that means you’re quitting to leave?” Hanamaki asks. “Damn.”_

_Iwaizumi shrugs. “I guess.”_

_“We’ll be missing a good pair of hands,” Matsukawa says, mournfully._

_“Is that all I am to you, Issei?” Iwaizumi mock-growls. Matsukawa laughs._

_“You are an important friend of my heart, Iwaizumi Hajime,” he says, pressing a hand to his chest, “and trust me when I say no distance will break the bond between us.” He raises both his hands for high-fives, and when Iwaizumi finally groans and returns the gesture, Tooru can see that his eyes are shining._

“What,” says Tooru.

“Yeah,” says Iwaizumi.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say,” Tooru says, “and you’ve said a lot of stupid things.”

“I’ll hit you.”

“Don’t shoot the messenger.”

“How about I one-up myself, then,” Iwaizumi says, “by saying the stupidest thing I ever will say, ever.”

Tooru raises his eyebrows. “Big words.”

“Try me.”

“Alright.” Tooru raises his hands in a little ‘go ahead’ gesture. “Hit me.”

“I came back because I wanted to see if I still had anyone worth coming home to,” Iwaizumi says, quickly, as if he can’t get the words out quickly enough, “I went back to my house and my parents were furious at me for neglecting work to visit them, and then I thought—I thought, I actually thought to myself that I should just stay in Tokyo. For the rest of my life.”

_“I’ll visit, I promise,” Iwaizumi says, once Matsukawa and Hanamaki are walking ahead, tripping over each other and laughing. He’s wide open this time, like a book with well-worn pages and creases along the spine where Tooru always absently runs his finger across when he reads, like when he sits under his mother’s tree and he can hear her voice singing through it, loud and clear._

_He thinks about how cold the winter is going to be this year, and tightens the scarf around his neck. “Don’t be a stranger, Hajime,” he says._

“There’s a ‘but’, right?” Tooru says, like it’s a joke, but it comes out a little cracked.

“But then I visited your mum,” Iwaizumi continues, looking at his hands. “And she made me breakfast, even though it was six in the morning, and told me that I absolutely had to visit every New Year’s, or she’d send the birds after me.” He laughs, short and wondering. “And then I walked, and I got on the train, and then when I looked up I was at Blue Castle. And then I saw you.” He glances up, and holds Tooru’s gaze. “And then I was home.”

There’s a baby tree inside of Tooru, his mother had always told him. The more meaningful and important the things he did, the events he saw, and the people he met, the faster the tree would grow, and it would grow stronger and stronger until Tooru would be able to hear the songs of any plant, ever. Seven-year-old Tooru aced all his exams in the hope of strengthening his magic. Twelve-year-old Tooru threw his heart into volleyball, and worked until his knee gave out. Eighteen-year-old Tooru keeps the words close to his heart as a reminder to always do himself justice, but never as anything more.

Tooru is twenty-four, and when he meets Iwaizumi’s steady, earnest, hopeful gaze with one of his own, the potted philodendron sitting at the edge of table lets out a single high, clear note.

“I can’t handle the workload, they’re giving me projects that are way out of my league,” Iwaizumi rushes to add once he realises Tooru isn’t going to say anything. “but I think the experience will help me find similar jobs here in Miyagi, and don’t know if my parents will let me stay, they’re probably going to disown me or something like that, but I’ve talked it out with your mum and she says she’s willing to let me pay rent, and—”

“Iwa-chan, can you shut up for one second?” Tooru snaps, and Iwaizumi falls silent mid-sentence. He sighs. “If you don’t hurry up and go, your train’s going to leave.”

Iwaizumi glances towards the clock and mutters a curse. “Takahiro and Issei didn’t come get us.”

“Probably wanted us to have alone time, the losers,” Tooru says, gathering up the scarf on his lap and dumping it over his shoulder as he gathers up his backpack and wallet. Iwaizumi’s ready to leave in seconds, as usual, and walks over to help Tooru with his wayward scarf. “Ah, thanks. What was in the thing he gave you, anyway?”

Iwaizumi purses his lips, adjusting the loop on the scarf while Tooru slings his bag over his shoulder. “I’d really rather not say.”

“Honestly?” Tooru pouts. “We’re supposed to tell each other everything!”

“We don’t do that, it’d be weird if we did.” Iwaizumi takes his wrist to drag him out of the coffeeshop, but Tooru grabs his hand, instead. It’s calloused and warm, and he doesn’t protest when Tooru laces their fingers together.

The cold morning air blows right into Tooru’s face as they step outside, and he’s never been more thankful for his mother’s knitting hobby. “Quick, tell me what it was!” He can see Hanamaki and Matsukawa waving at them in the distance, already beside the platform, and he waves back. “Preferably before we reach them, so I can laugh at Hanamaki without him hearing me.”

Iwaizumi snorts. There’s no visible puff of condensation, this time. “He gave me a handwritten good-luck note. Don’t know why he thought wrapping it was a good idea.”

“Good luck for what?”

“I don’t know. Talking to you, maybe—”

“You told them about this before you told me! Traitor!”

“—but it was probably about talking to my parents,” he finishes, pointedly.

“Fine,” says Tooru, sticking out his tongue. “Bleh.”

They walk about halfway to the boarding platform in silence, and just as Hanamaki and Matsukawa are coming forward to meet them, Iwaizumi squeezes his hand and says, “I’ll be home before you know it.”

Tooru blinks at him. “I’ll hold you to that,” he says, before Matsukawa bowls over them both, snickering about cold weather and warm hands, as if he’s not the one dressed in a sleeveless hoodie in the middle of February.

Hanging out with Matsukawa and Hanamaki is never boring, as Tooru’s come to realise after years of spending time with them all, and it’s the loudest ten minutes he’s ever spent with them yet. The laughing doesn’t stop even after they’ve shoved Iwaizumi and his bags up into his cabin and crowded around the window of his seat, trying to get a couple more words in like they’re making up for lost time. And then the train whistles, the announcement is made, and—

_Tooru watches as a piece of him rides away, slowly picking up speed, further and further until he’s only a speck and Hanamaki has to sling an arm through his and lead him away, laughing boisterously about something or another until Tooru finally grins along, finally tears his eyes away, and_

—and Tooru waits for his home to come home.

  
  



End file.
